† The Brat Queen †

Disclaimer: The following is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe of the rights of Joss Whedon, the WB, Mutant Enemy or any other copyright holders of Angel.

By the Way
by The Brat Queen

Spoilers: Takes place after Epiphany.

Rated: NC-17

Summary: Angel and Wesley travel abroad to take care of things, while Wes deals with a few issues from his past.

Author's Note: This is a sequel to Everybody Fell. I don't think it's necessary to read that in order to understand this. Just know that they're both part of a series that's going somewhere and that's why not all plot points will be resolved by the end of the hour ;)

Dedicated to: All the people who asked me how my trip was, only to be told to be patient while I got this bunny out of my head. I promise to tell you where I went now, honest!

Thanks to: Olwen, for valuable beta-reading services, for remembering how Wes takes his coffee, and for validating my inner demon.

"Miss? Um. I didn't get the meal I ordered."

Wesley lowered his paperwork to make it easier for Angel to converse with the stewardess. From out of the corner of his eye he could see the blue-suited woman frown.

"32A?" she asked, looking at her list. "Vegan?"

Angel attempted a smile. He didn't succeed. "Ah, no. More - more of a high-protein kind of thing."

The stewardess furrowed her eyebrows. "I'm not seeing that here, I'm afraid. Would a regular meal be ok?"

Angel's shoulders slumped. "Yeah. Fine," he said. He sat back in his chair, sighing. "I knew this wasn't going to work."

Wesley took a moment to watch the stewardess walk away before replying. "What?"

"The whole online ticket buying thing," Angel said. "I know it's cheap and all but still, I don't trust it."

"You just don't like computers," Wesley said. He finished highlighting one passage, then shuffled through his papers to find the next item on his reading list. He offered Angel a look of sympathy. "But I am sorry. Would you care for my pretzels?"

Angel shook his head. "No - no thanks." He paused, then added. "Sorry. Don't mean to be a pain about everything. Just - flying," he grimaced. "Makes me nervous."

Wesley frowned, cocking his head to look at Angel. "Really?"

Angel nodded, looking a bit nonplussed. "Yeah."

"Angel," Wesley said, pushing his glasses up to look at him properly. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but - you've been to Hell. Flying makes you nervous?"

"Yes," Angel replied, then tried to shrug it off. "Well, you know. Not - not so much flying as the whole 'large, metal object filled with flammable gas' thing. Flames, vampires - not as good a combination as it sounds."

Wesley gave him another look of sympathy. "And us with seats right on the wing."

"You noticed that too?" Angel asked. He scowled in the direction of the window, where a wing would have been visible had it not been pitch-black outside.

Wesley reached over to slide the window shade down. "Try not to think about it," he suggested. "Perhaps you could get some sleep?" he motioned to indicate the passengers around them who had already dropped off during the in-flight movie.

Angel shook his head. "No. Not while you're up. How's it going, anyway?"

Wesley took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Slowly." He handed a few pages over to Angel. "It seems fairly certain that the object in Cordelia's vision was, in fact, a Magus Orb. However what one does, and why Wolfram and Hart would be interested in acquiring one, is completely beyond me I'm afraid."

Angel scanned through the pages, only pausing to accept his meal when the stewardess brought it over. He handed the salad over to Wesley automatically. "Sure we're going to find one of these in England?"

"It would be there if anywhere," Wesley said. He took the cup of dressing from Angel's tray, opened it, and poured the orange liquid inside over the limp lettuce leaves. "May I?" he asked, gesturing to the fork. At Angel's nod, he unwrapped the utensil from its plastic cover and used it to spread the dressing around. "There hasn't been one sighted in America for nearly 150 years," he explained. "And the order of monks that was known for making them was located in a small monastery in London. Whether they continue to exist, of course, remains to be seen."

"I've gotta admit, Wes, I'm disturbed," Angel said.

Wesley frowned. "By the Orb?"

"What?" Angel asked. "Oh. No. I mean, not yet. Actually I meant the food. Is this chicken or fish?"

Wesley glanced over. "Chicken. I think. Rather difficult to say in this light, actually."

"At least you can't tell either," Angel said. He put the papers down and began freeing a sliver of meat from the dish. Once done, he used the knife to lift the food to his lips in a surprisingly graceful motion. Noticing Wesley's eyes on him, he smiled gamely. "Mm. Chicken."

"You're hating every minute of this, aren't you?"

Angel swallowed. "Nah. Me? This? Well… maybe. But that's not important right now. Besides, we only have," he checked his watch, "two hours to go. I'm good."

"Three."

Angel blinked. "What?"

"Three hours," Wesley pointed to overhead display which tracked the plane's mileage, speed, and estimated time of arrival. "Seems you've set your watch improperly."

"Oh," Angel said. He glanced down at his watch. "Oh. Well. Good. Gives me more time to…" Angel looked around, then pulled something out of the seat pocket in front of him. "To read the magazine."

Wesley looked at what Angel was holding. "I believe that's the safety instructions."

"Couldn't hurt either," Angel said. He flipped the card open. "Oh look - emergency exits."

Wesley grinned, even though it was against his better judgment. "You didn't have to come, Angel."

Angel put the instructions away, abandoning the pretense of reading them. "I wanted to."

"But why?" Wesley asked. He gestured to the papers in front of him. "I'm perfectly capable of handling this by myself."

"I'm not saying I don't trust you, Wes," Angel said, "I'm just saying I don't trust them. If Wolfram and Hart want this thing badly enough they're bound to have people over there already. And -"

"And Cordelia and Gunn are more than capable of keeping on top of things while we're gone," Wesley finished. "Yes, I know. We've been over this before. What I'm wondering now is why you came when you dislike it so?"

Angel shot him a surprised look. "You have to ask?"

"Yes, I - oh," Wesley started to answer, then stopped as Angel's look, and his own slow thinking, came together to provide the conclusion. Wesley blushed. "I see."

Angel's fingers, made cool by the airplane's temperature, still felt warm against his cheek. "Call it personal interest," Angel said. His voice was soft, audible only to Wesley over the hum of the engines.

Wesley shivered. Goosebumps rose up all over his body. He felt himself seized by the desire to return the touch with a kiss, or even more. The sight of the stewardess coming back down the aisle was all that kept him in place.

As if reading his mind, Angel smiled. "We're sharing a room, right?"

"Right."

Angel pressed his thumb against the tender skin behind Wesley's ear, then let him go. "Good," he said. He met Wesley's eyes. "Good."

Another shiver went through him. Wesley helped himself to the mineral water on Angel's tray. "Here's hoping they don't keep us long in Customs," Wesley said. He drank the water down in a few gulps, then returned to his research.

His thoughts were only occasionally interrupted by the feeling of his lover beside him.

It had been over a century since Angel had seen the British Museum. He found himself marveling at it as he sat beside Wesley in the Reading Room. Sharp, modern computers decorated the richly stained wooden tables that spread out, maze-like, throughout the circular area. Books of every type, subject and age filled the walls as far as the eye could see.

Wesley was in his element.

"Heaven forbid we classify this by actual, useful categories," Wesley was muttering as he clicked away at screen after screen, quickly searching through things Angel had no hope of understanding. "Oh no. Let's just spend the money on bright, shiny things and let scholarship be damned. Honestly! It's like the Verdan Knights all over again."

Angel frowned. "Verdan Knights?"

"Holy Order of Knights dedicated to the preservation of knowledge," Wesley explained. He paused to write something down on a sheet of paper. "At least in theory. In practicality they were more devoted to carousing and using their titles to pick up girls than they were with spending any time trying to actually do work. The only reason they have any place in the world of history today is that they inadvertently saved a copy of the Magna Carta."

"Inadvertently?"

Wesley scowled at the computer screen, then printed something out. "Yes. Damn fools apparently mistook it for a set of housekeeping instructions and tucked it away in a stone-walled laundry room. A few years later their building burned down but the Magna Carta was nice and safe. If a bit smelly. Here," Wesley said, as he tore the printout in half and handed part of it to Angel, "help me find these."

Angel read through the list of books, looked over his shoulder at the section they were close to, then began navigating his way toward the ones Wesley needed. "Think these'll tell us anything about a Magus Orb?"

Wesley was right beside him. "There's a chance. The system doesn't actually list any books about the Orb, but my research tells me these authors may help us get on the right track." He gave Angel a reassuring look. "Don't worry. We'll find something. If not here, then over at the Library."

Angel smiled at him. "I trust you, Wes." He turned his attention back to his list and began looking for the books in earnest. He knew he'd be useless for helping Wesley translate any of it, but he liked knowing that he could assist Wesley in some fashion.

The first book proved easy to find. Angel was able to grab it with a minimum of effort and bring them over to the table they'd claimed. The second title, however, gave him trouble. He found himself going through some sections over and over again, until he finally decided to take books that seemed like they might be it while letting Wesley decide if he needed them.

He was about to do this when Wesley, out of nowhere, stopped him.

"Careful!" Wesley said, grabbing Angel's hand away from the shelves. At Angel's look, he pointed. "That one's Holy."

Angel looked at it in interest. "Really?"

Wesley nodded. He pulled it off the shelf and placed it safely away from him. "I was here when they got it. It was written by a priest who gave it a special Blessing before the donation. Not sure if that would be enough," Wesley shrugged, "but he did sprinkle it with Holy Water and I'd rather not take the chance."

"Lucky you were here," Angel said. He flashed Wesley a small grin.

Wesley seemed taken aback. "What?"

"Nothing," Angel said. He stepped back from the shelves and stretched to loosen his shoulders. "Just you - protective. I like it."

"Someone's got to be," Wesley said. He flipped through a book he was holding. "You've all the self-preservation instincts of an especially suicidal lemming. No offense."

"None taken."

"But if it were up to you," Wes continued, walking back to their table, "you'd curl up on a picture of Christ while licking a Bible if it meant getting the job done. Not that I don't admire your dedication to a higher cause but I rather wish you could accomplish the task without bursting into flames, getting staked or any other number of things which tend to happen when you think with your heart and not some other organ which in some way vaguely resembles your brain."

Angel leaned against the back of Wesley's chair. "I don't lick Bibles."

Wes glared at him. "You would if you had to."

Secretly, Angel admitted this was probably true. "Not like you're any better," he said. He reached out and brushed his hand over the still-healing wound on Wesley's stomach. "Planning on getting shot again sometime soon?"

"Not if I can help it," Wesley said. He gently pushed Angel out of the way and sat down. "And therein lies the difference."

Angel repositioned himself against the table. "Getting shot wouldn't kill me," he pointed out.

"It would still hurt you," Wesley said. He closed his book and looked Angel in the eye. "That's my concern. You still don't care about such things."

"Wes," Angel said, "I know you're worried about me -"

"Yes, I am," Wesley replied. "But not in the manner that you think." Wesley paused, clearly trying to compose his thoughts. "Angel, my admiration for what you do - for all you have dedicated yourself to - it knows no limits. The very thought that you are attempting to do right by a Power that may or may not accept you when all this is done, that you are trying to redeem yourself for no other reason than the feeling that you should - " Wesley shook his head in disbelief. "Astonishing. But, Angel, do remember you are more than this. You are so much more than He Who Was Once Angelus. So much more than 'the vampire with a soul'. You are Angel. My friend. My trusted partner."

"Your lover."

Wesley smiled. "That as well. But even if you weren't -" Wesley covered one of Angel's hands with his own. "You have value. Beyond your value as a part of some grand destiny. I wish that you would remember that."

Angel stared at Wesley for a long while. Finally, he had confidence enough to speak. "You have a real way with words sometimes, Wes."

"It's nothing," Wesley said. He opened his book again.

"I don't think so."

"That's as may be," Wesley replied, still not looking at him, "but I know that look and either we stop the conversation now or I'll be forced to remind you that we are surrounded by tourists."

Angel considered this. "I might not care."

Wesley looked up at the windows of the restaurant above them. "Be a treat for the lunchtime crowd, certainly."

"Is that a yes?"

Wesley handed him his sheet of paper again. "Get the rest of the books, Angel."

Angel tried bending over and meeting Wesley's eyes lasciviously. "I'm not convinced."

"Fine," Wesley said, ignoring him in favor of turning a page. "Do it or you're fired."

"I knew you'd be a real pain about that," Angel said. He pushed off from the table and studied the list once more. "I'll be back."

Wesley nodded, writing something down. "Take your time."

It didn't take as long as he expected to find the remaining books. Angel finished the task in about twenty minutes. He collected the volumes into a single pile in his arms, then walked back to their table.

On his way, he spied Wesley standing by one of the return racks. He was talking with a dark-haired gentleman who seemed to be just about Wesley's age, or a few years older. Angel didn't know him, though Wesley appeared to. Judging by the look on Wes's face, Wesley was less than thrilled to be taking part in the conversation.

Angel thought about interrupting them but Wesley caught his eye and made the smallest motion of warning. They'd used signals like that before. Angel knew not to come near.

It didn't keep him from attempting to eavesdrop, though. As subtly as he could he made his way over to an empty chair. He turned the computer screen in front of him in Wesley's direction. The computer wasn't on and its black monitor provided him with a perfect mirror in which to watch everything.

He could hear what Wesley was saying, but lacking any context he couldn't figure out what he and the man had been discussing, or why it had upset Wesley so. Then an idea occurred to him. He took out the list of books he'd been holding, turned it over to its blank side, then used a handy pen to write out a simple question.

Watcher? he wrote in good, large letters, then held the paper up high enough for Wesley to see. He could tell from the reflection that the other man wasn't facing the right way to notice.

Wesley's reflection nodded, as Wesley himself continued whatever small talk he'd been making. "Yes, yes. Absolutely, Clive. I think you've got the right of it there."

Angel scowled. This was the last thing they needed. Should I go?

Again the reflection nodded, as Wesley listened to Clive talk about different aspects of the Museum.

Where?

"I've personally found the cafés to be the best aspects of the remodeling," Wesley said. He scratched the right side of his nose. "I enjoyed a cup of coffee there earlier today as a matter of fact."

Angel nodded. Leaving the books he'd found on the table, he slipped out of the room as quietly as he could, making sure to keep his back to the Watcher at all times. He returned his ticket to the Museum volunteer then, as an added caution, went in the wrong direction and took the long way around to the small café on the right side of the enclosed courtyard. He purchased a cup of coffee for himself and for Wesley, then sat down on one of the metal stools and waited.

It didn't take long.

"Thank you," Wesley said as he sat down beside him. He sipped the coffee thoughtfully.

Angel offered him extra packets of the sugar substitute that he liked. "Is he gone?"

Wesley took one of the packets, removed the lid from his cup, and added the powder in. "Yes. I walked him to the doors." He took a test sip of his coffee, nodded, and put the lid back on. "That's the problem with the Museum. Perfect for research, so of course the bloody Council is all over it."

Angel motioned in the direction of the back entrance. "Do we need to go?"

"Yes - no." Wesley shook his head, then started over. "I mean no, not because of them. But yes, because we're done. Somewhat." He unfolded a piece of paper he was holding. "It seems that Magus Orbs, or rather information about them, can be found courtesy of a certain breed of demon -"

"Wes," Angel said softly, "do you want to talk about it?"

" - which looks like this," Wesley continued. He didn't meet Angel's eyes as he handed the piece of paper over. "Oddly enough Clive - that's our Watcher friend - had that book you were looking for. Remember? The one you couldn't find? Turns out to have been just the one we needed. Funny, isn't it?" Wesley wrapped his hands around his cup as though he were cold. "Of course I'd love to tell him and the information to be damned, but it's accurate, as far as I can tell. Nothing to be done about it."

Angel wondered what else Wesley and Clive had talked about, besides the exchange of information. But Wesley didn't look anymore inclined to speak about it than he had when Angel asked him the first time. Unable to do anything more, Angel glanced at the paper he'd been given. "So this kind of demon knows about the Orbs?"

"Yes," Wesley's voice was quiet and slightly flat.

Angel shifted position to get a better view in the courtyard's muted light. He tried to think of something else to say to distract Wesley, then realized he didn't have to. "Wait - I know this guy."

Wesley turned to look at him, puzzled. "You do?"

Angel nodded, standing. "Give me a sec. I'm going to make some phone calls."

"Step right up! Put your head right on the chopping block, lads! Can't get in without getting yer head chopped off! Nobody allowed in who's - oh, it's you, Angel." The demon from Wesley's picture dropped his patter - and the fake ax he'd been holding - and looked Angel and Wesley over. "Didn't know you were in town. Who's your friend?"

"Wesley Wyndam-Pryce," Angel said, motioning for Wesley to step forward into the torch-lit hallway. Angel looked at the demon in disbelief. "Kyrl, Kyrl, Kyrl - what the heck are you doing in a tourist trap like this?"

Kyrl shrugged. "It's a fair job. Good wages, nice hours. Plus I get to save a bit a' money each week on makeup expenses." The demon gestured in the direction of his face which, if Wesley hadn't known it to be demonic in origin, he would have assumed belonged to nothing more than a heavily - albeit hideously - scarred human.

Angel folded his arms over the chest-high chopping block. "I suppose. But still, this?"

"Theater's theater, Angel m' boy," Kyrl said. He patted his stomach. "Gotta get a bite to eat somehow."

A bell of recognition rang in Wesley's head. "That's right," he said, pointing at the demon. "You're a Hiatt demon, aren't you? I thought I might have seen the picture before. You live off of emotions." Wesley turned to Angel, glad for the chance to put his mind on auto-pilot with a description. "It's a fascinating evolution. Completely non-parasitic. They take their energy from the natural output of emotions that affect people in their daily lives. Once the art of drama was invented, the Hiatt then realized that they could flock to any sort of theatrical arena because, naturally, the plays and music found there increased the emotions of the audiences involved."

There was a beat as Kyrl and Angel stared at him.

"Chatty little bugger, isn't he?" Kyrl asked.

Angel smiled, reaching out to Wesley with the expression. "Wes likes research. He's real good at it too."

Only the sight of a genuine Angel smile kept Wesley from feeling as though he'd been patted on the head for performing a trick "Yes, well," Wesley said, adjusting his glasses, "my point is, Angel, to answer your question, that a fright house like this would, indeed, prove an ideal place for a demon of Kyrl's nature."

"'s not a haunted house," Kyrl said, looking offended. "We got real education 'ere."

"Yeah, speaking of which," Angel said, pointing to one of the displays of medieval torture devices and singling out one item in particular. "You know that doesn't actually go on the fingers, right?"

"Well it's a family establishment, innit?" Kyrl said. He motioned for them to step aside. As a pair of tourists and their child showed up. "Speaking of which - yeah right this way! Get yer head chopped off! No one allowed inside who's still alive! Yeah, that's it, love, just hold the ax over yer mum's head like so. Mum - give us a nice scream and… perfect!" Kyrl took a picture of the scene, scribbled something down on a slip of paper, and handed it to the family. "Shot will be ready in half an hour, no obligation to buy. Ta." He turned back to Angel and Wesley. "So if you're not here for the tour what can I do you for?"

"We're looking for information about one of these," Wesley said. He showed Kyrl a picture of a Magus Orb. "We suspect someone might be trying to use one against Angel."

Kyrl scratched his head. "Ya think? Makes no sense to me."

"How come?" Angel asked.

"'s not your bag, is it?" Kyrl said. He gestured to the picture. "You - well bugger if I know how you're spending yer time these days, Angel, but I ain't never heard of you going on stage fer anything."

Wesley frowned. "Stage?"

"Yeah," Kyrl said. He gave the picture back. "Magus Orb. Old curse item. Popular around here back in Bill Shakespeare's day, lemme tell you. Well that and the days of real opera. People used it to put rival shows out of business."

"I'm not following you, Kyrl," Angel said. "What's it do?"

"Gives a man one Hell of a dose of stage fright," Kyrl said. "Curse a boy with that and he'll drop his lines, forget his part and - "

"And be completely unable to sing," Wesley finished. He looked at Angel. "They're hoping to keep you from performing at Caritas."

"Them and all the other patrons," Angel muttered.

"What's Caritas?" Kyrl asked.

"It's not important," Wesley replied. "Is there a cure?"

"Yeah," Kyrl said. He took out his pen and wrote something down on the back of an empty photo receipt. "Easy stuff. Mix all that together, drink it down, say the chant, jack's a donut, there you are. 's why they dropped out of use. Cure was easier than the disease, so to speak. That and it later turned out to be just as efficient to kill yer principle players for the insurance money." Kyrl turned to Angel with a nostalgic smile on his face. "Those were the days, huh? People cared about the arts."

"I've never been much for theater," Angel said. He took the list. "Is that it?"

"Yep," Kyrl said. "Anything else I can do for you? We got a lovely display on the Great Fire inside. So real you can smell the sulpher."

"Er, I think not," Wesley said, upon seeing Angel's reaction to the offer.

"Oh, right," Kyrl nodded, turning to see the next set of tourists as they arrived. "Vampire. Forgot. Well, be sure to come back soon! Plenty of things here that don't burst into flames!"

"I'll be sure to remember that," Angel said, rolling his eyes. He stepped back to let the tourists through, took Wesley's arm, and lead him back outside.

"Wes, I don't get this," Angel said, as the two of them navigated the aisles of a grocery store, looking for the ingredients Kyrl had listed for them.

"Get what?" Wesley asked. He studied a jar of cumin.

"Cordelia gets a vision," Angel said, ticking off the items on his fingers, "the vision's of Wolfram and Hart and a Magus Orb. What we know about Magus Orbs leads us here. We get here and find out - what? That I need to update my spice rack?"

"Well, you did," Wesley said. He put the jar into the basket he was holding then moved down to find the next item. "Especially since Cordelia raided the nutmeg during that egg nog experiment. But beyond that it does make sense to me. Singing at Caritas is one of the few ways you can contact the Powers. I can understand why Wolfram and Hart would want to deny you that opportunity." Wesley paused, thoughtfully. "We should probably be on the alert for them to try going after Cordelia's abilities as well."

"But the Host isn't my true link with the Powers," Angel said. "He said so himself."

"However, he is a link," Wesley replied. "And Caritas provides you and the rest of us with a form of sanctuary. If Wolfram and Hart are still attempting to confuse and manipulate you, they would want to attack anywhere that you felt safe."

Angel thought about this, then shook his head. "We're missing something."

"Rosemary."

Angel gave him a look. "Besides that."

"I know what you meant," Wesley said. He stood up from where he'd been kneeling to retrieve some bay leaves. "But at the moment there's nothing that we can do. We'll have to trust that if the Powers wanted something to happen, that it would." Wes looked at him pointedly. "It does no good to obsess over it."

Angel winced as the comment hit home. "All right. But I don't have to like it."

Wes smiled sympathetically. "I never said that I did. Anyway - damn!"

"What?" Angel asked. He turned to look in the direction of whatever had distracted Wesley.

"Outside," Wes said, nodding towards the large windows of the store. "Blue sky. Sun's coming out."

"In England?" Angel asked. "Is that allowed?"

"Well there's two weeks in July where it occurs but we don't like to talk about it and we generally arrange to be elsewhere when it happens," Wesley replied. "Beyond that we're just as surprised about it as you. Here - we've still got some clouds overhead. Why don't you dash into the subway and I'll meet you when I'm done?"

Angel looked back at Wes. "Sure?'

Wes gave him a small grin. "Much as I've often thought about turning you into dust, at this particular moment I prefer you whole. Go. I shouldn't be long."

Angel debated it, then decided not to chance how long the sun might be overhead. "All right. But be quick."

Wesley waved him off then disappeared down the aisle.

Angel watched him for a moment, then made his way out of the store and down into the subway. Lacking anything else to do, he went down the stairs and studied the map on the wall.

"Where are you going?" a voice asked. Angel could hear a hint of the Indies in it.

"Marble Arch," he replied. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the speaker - a homeless man. Probably no older than Angel himself had been when last he was mortal.

"Down here, then go to the right," the man said, pointing. "It looks closed, but it isn't."

"Thanks," Angel said. He tossed a few pound coins into the man's hand, then followed the directions. He figured he had enough time to take a look before Wesley arrived. "This way?"

"Actually, no," a different voice replied. Two figures stepped out of the shadows. Angel's eyes were immediately drawn to their weapons. A crossbow was lifted and pointed directly at him. "Wrong way entirely, I'm afraid."

Angel dove, hearing the hiss of the stake as it missed him and smashed against the far wall.

"Damn you, Stuart! I told you we needed the element of surprise! No talking!"

Angel rolled, then sprang to his feet. He regretted not taking Gunn up on the offer to conceal weapons in his luggage. He positioned himself behind a turn in the wall, and looked about for anything he might use. Out of the corner of his eye, he recognized the second speaker. "Clive? I thought you were supposed to be a Watcher."

"Yes," Clive said. Angel looked up, and realized he could see the both of them in a curved mirror placed near the ceiling. He smiled, glad that the mirror could not return the favor for the two men. "And I watched you at the Museum, vampire. Poor form coming onto our own territory, you know. We were willing to cut you some slack for staying in America."

"Don't mind vampires as long as they're not on your land?" Angel asked. He watched as Stuart readied the crossbow again. He held still, waiting, until he saw the Watcher creep towards him. As the tip of the bow passed by the corner, Angel grabbed it, jerked, and sent Stuart tumbling down the hall. "Hardly seems like proper Watcher behavior." Angel flipped the crossbow in his hands, turned, and aimed it at Clive's chest just as the other man did the same with his own weapon. "Of course," Angel added, "Neither does this. What's with you two acting like Slayers? I thought the Watchers didn't like to get their hands dirty until after they screwed up. And I wouldn't pull that trigger, Clive. Not unless you're really certain that you're a faster shot than I am."

"I'm willing to take the chance."

"So am I." Wesley appeared over Clive's shoulder. His arm was outstretched, his hand hidden behind Clive's back. "And I know that I am a better shot than you are. Hurt him and you shan't live to regret it, Clive. That I promise you. . What in Hell do you think you're doing? No - don't bother. I can guess the answer. Angel? Leave."

Angel looked at Wes as though he'd gone insane. "Wes? Sidebar?"

Wes shook his head. "They won't kill a human. It's their one claim to morality."

"Yeah, I've heard that rumor too. On the other hand, there's the fact that they were pretty happy to try shooting at you with a machine gun last year," Angel said. "I'm thinking they got over it."

"They were actually aiming for you, vampire," Clive said.

"Clive, shut up. Angel, go. Stuart," Wesley added, looking up at the other Watcher's reflection in the mirror, "I'd recommend sitting back down and being quiet. Do remember you're the one close to the vampire who has no reason to give a damn about you."

Angel let his eyes harden into a touch of gold as he looked in Stuart's direction. "I've got reason enough."

Stuart stopped trying to crawl towards Angel and resumed a seated position. Then made a show of keeping his hands were Angel could see them.

"Good man," Angel said. He turned back to Clive. "As for you -"

Wesley looked daggers at him. "Angel, leave."

"Wes - "

"Do it! Or else they'll follow us both, and kill you." Wesley risked a softer glance in Angel's direction. "Trust me."

Angel gritted his teeth. He longed to argue, or to let the crossbow slip and remove Clive as a problem. But he couldn't deny Wesley's point, and didn't dare give in to worse ethics than the Watcher's Council believed in. "Fine," he said at last. He paused, and let another shade of his vamp face shape his features. "But I won't be far."

"Yes, yes," Wesley said, shaking his head. "Now come here and take these with you. Clive, eyes front if you please."

Keeping the crossbow trained on Clive, Angel stepped forward, then around the Watcher. He made sure that Clive saw a hint of fang as he passed. It was enough to keep Clive from firing, or turning around. Which was just as well, Angel realized, as he joined Wesley's side and confirmed his suspicions.

Wes was completely weaponless.

"You're insane," Angel said. He handed over his crossbow and took the bag of supplies in exchange for it.

"I've done worse," Wesley replied. He hefted the bow easily. "Now go. Take Clive's crossbow with you. I'll catch up in a moment."

Angel shook his vamp face off, meeting Wesley's eyes with his own. "You'd better." They held the look for a moment, then Angel reached back to relieve Clive of his weapon. He hid the bow in a fold of his coat, then disappeared down one of the dark subway halls.

Wesley waited until Angel was truly gone before speaking. "So what is this, Clive? Have you been stalking me since the Museum or has it gone on longer than that?"

"We knew you were around when you cleared Customs," Clive said.

Wesley chided himself for the naïve thought that he hadn't needed to acquire a false passport, as Angel had. "I'll be sure to remember that next time," Wesley said. "Now why? What is this entire charade?"

Clive looked over his shoulder, turning around slowly. "Wesley, why don't you put the weapon down -"

Wesley lifted it to eye level - Clive's eye level. "I like it where it is, actually. Decreases my chances that you might call on someone to perform target practice using my body."

Clive sighed. He held his hands up in supplication. "This isn't what you think, Wesley. Truly."

"Oh?" Wesley asked. "That's truly amazing. I think this was an attempt on your part to kill my friend and harass me. What do you imagine this to be?"

"An attempt to save you, Wesley," Clive said. He indicated Wesley's position. "Good Lord, man - look at yourself! I'd heard the rumors, but had no earthly idea that you had come to this."

Wesley frowned. His trigger finger suddenly felt rather twitchy. "What rumors?"

"Weatherby -"

"I wouldn't mention that name, really, if I were you," Wesley said. "Not if you wished to keep me in good temper."

"Has he lied?" Clive asked. "You are working for a vampire."

Wesley grinned. "Actually, he's in my employ these days."

The look on Clive's face was worth the confession. "That somehow makes it better? Wesley, what happened to your Watcher oaths?"

"Went the same direction as my Watcher paychecks," Wesley replied. "Or didn't you get that memo?"

"Wesley, it is not too late," Clive said. He stepped forward. His expression was urgent. "You can come back. Stuart and I - " Clive motioned in the direction of his companion, the latter of whom had made a point of staying well away from Wesley's firing range "we're on the Committee. We can arrange this. Bring you back in the fold."

Wesley laughed. "Oh? And what does the Council want out of me this time? You know, if you lot had truly liked me that much you shouldn't have sacked me. Firing me and abandoning me in America rather effectively destroyed your ability to convince me that you in any way valued my skills. I mean it's not exactly calling me Employee of the Month now, is it?"

Clive shook his head. "They were fools, Wesley. I told them not to do it! I told them you were the best of us. And they knew that - they knew it when they awarded you the Watcher position in Rupert's place."

"Again I must bring us back to the point that they fired me not long after," Wesley said, as though it had just occurred to him. "I can't help but feel that's crucial."

"But look at you, Wesley," Clive said. He gestured in the direction Angel had left in. "Look at him! You were protecting Angelus!"

"Angel."

Clive scoffed. "There's a difference? There but for the grace of one moment! Then there's the matter of the past year to consider. We've heard about the lawyers, Wesley. The deaths and destruction that your vampire - your so-called good employee - has taken part in. Is this good? Is this right? Is this why you wanted to join us?"

Wesley started to speak and offer some explanation on Angel's behalf. Then realized he couldn't. "It's a separate issue," he finally replied, wishing he had a pithier and more cutting way to phrase it.

"You're not the first," Stuart spoke up. He'd changed position, and was now sitting by the corner Angel had hid behind earlier.

Wesley looked at him. "The what?"

"The first," Stuart repeated. "To join them. It's difficult. They have powers. We do not. It can seem like they do so much more -"

"He does do more."

"He's a vampire, Wesley," Stuart replied. "That's his nature. You know this. You've read the same books that we have, studied the same subjects - Hell, even read about him. Ultimately they are always vampires." Stuart paused, then tilted his head back, revealing an old, yet still clearly vampire-created, scar. "Trust me."

Wesley stared. He tried to remember what he knew about Stuart or if he had ever read about the attack. "Angel's different."

"We'd all like to believe that," Stuart said. He looked at Clive, who nodded to confirm this. "But, Wesley, do understand - the Council knows more about this than you. It's studied vampires for centuries. You? Barely a decade. And you've known your Angel friend less than 3 years. Who's more likely to be right? To understand the long-term consequences?"

"We know you want to help, Wesley," Clive said, gently. "No one faults you for trying to find a way, especially after the Council turned its back on you. But now you must choose your path with care. You know how hard it can be to step away from black arts, once you have begun to use them."

Wesley was aghast. "I have not been using the black arts!"

"But have they been using you?" Stuart asked. "Think, Wesley. Is this like you? Before you were sent to the Hellmouth, would you have done this? You're protecting a vampire. You're holding a deadly weapon against us - two humans! I shudder to think of what else you might do that we don't even know about."

"That's it," Wesley said. He pulled the crossbow back, preparing to disarm it. "This conversation is over."

"Wesley - " Clive said, stepping forward.

"No," Wesley said, cutting him off. He lowered the crossbow again. "Don't push this. I am leaving now, and you are staying here, and you are not to follow. You can tell that to the damned Council as well. I'll have nothing more to do with you. No more offers. No more bargains. No more claims that you'll take me back 'if only'. Any Council member who approaches me or my friends, does so at their own risk. Now good bye."

It was Stuart's turn to try and stop him. "But, Wesley -"

"Good bye," Wesley said. He rested the crossbow against his leg, turned his back, and walked away.

Angel paced back and forth in the hotel room, hating every minute of it.

He hadn't wanted to do it. Hadn't wanted to leave Wesley. But likewise he'd had no way of arguing. How could he? Wesley was right. The Watchers existed for the purpose of killing vampires. Had he stayed, Stuart and Clive would have done nothing but attack him - risking both his life and theirs. Wesley was the only one who could have stayed behind to stop it.

But even still, Angel hated it.

The minutes ticked by. He stood and made his way to the door more times than he could count. Each time only stopping himself just at the threshold, just at the edge, reminding himself that Wesley trusted him - that Wesley needed his trust.

So Angel stayed. And paced. He called Cordy and Gunn, needing two tries to figure out the right sequence of phone card numbers and country codes, only to then discover he'd forgotten to do the even more complicated math of remembering the time difference. It was too early in California for either one of them to be awake, so Angel left messages on their voice mails, and the office's own answering machine. Quick, stilted words, letting them know what they'd learned, how to combat the Orb's effects, and perhaps the both of them could keep an eye out for any possible ways that someone could try to get to Cordy. Not that, of course, he was trying to tell them what to do. He was only suggesting. To help. Because he worried.

That ate up fifteen minutes of his time. It was a half hour before he finally heard the sound of Wesley walking down the hallway.

"Do you have any idea -" Angel started as he opened the door, but then stopped as soon as he saw Wesley.

"I'm sorry," Wesley said. His voice was absent, distracted. He placed his crossbow against the wall, then began to take off his coat. He moved slowly, his fingers clumsy.

"I worried about you," Angel said, hoping that even that small comment wasn't saying too much. Wesley looked like six kinds of Hell.

"I'm fine," Wesley said. He ran a hand through his hair, loosened his tie, then abandoned the effort. He made his way to the table, then paused, looking at Angel. "You? Are you -"

"I'm ok," Angel said at once. He could reassure Wesley of that, at least.

Wesley nodded, studying him without seeming to see. "Good. Good. I couldn't tell. In the subway. If you were - " Wes made a vague motion, indicating possible damage.

"They never touched me," Angel said. Images were starting to come to his mind, and he didn't like them.

"Good," Wesley said again. He sat down in the chair Angel had just vacated, moving as though his bones ached. "Good."

Angel stood silently, watching him. He waged a battle inside of his head. Instincts new and old fought for his attention, as did his knowledge of Wesley, and of the Watchers. It wasn't hard for him to figure out what must have happened after he'd left.

Angel just didn't know what to do with the anger.

"I see you brought home the supplies safe and sound," Wesley said, looking at it upon the table. "If it's all right with you I'll attempt to mix the ingredients in the morning. I don't quite feel up to it right now."

One moment. Angel gave himself one moment to talk himself out of it, to remind himself that Wesley didn't often like it when people pried. That it might not be in anyone's best interest to force things.

It lasted a moment. Then Angel decided to throw caution to the wind.

"Fuck 'em, Wesley," he said.

Wesley looked up in confusion. "Pardon?"

"Fuck. Them." Angel repeated, enunciating each word carefully. He crossed the room in a few strides, moving to sit beside him. "They don't deserve you."

Wesley frowned, working his lips as though he were going to speak as soon as he could find the words.

Angel shook his head, stopping him. He cupped Wesley's face in both hands, making sure he was listening. "You're better than they are - than they could ever hope to be. They don't care about you. They never did."

A fine tremor went through Wesley's body. Angel felt it beneath his hands. "Angel, I -"

Angel traced his thumbs over Wesley's lips. "Shh. Listen to me, Wes. They don't know you."

Wesley leaned forward until his forehead was inches from Angel's. "Keep talking," he said. He wrapped his hands around Angel's wrists, pulling him closer. "Please."

The faintest smile touched Angel's face. He felt a small thrill at Wesley's encouragement. He stood, taking Wesley with him and drawing him into a close embrace. He began to kiss Wesley, starting a trail from his jaw, to his cheek, to his eyes, and back again. "Who do they know, Wesley? Who do they ever know? They never cared about Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. They just wanted a toy. A robot. A body they could control. Not you."

"Don't stop," Wesley whispered. He slid his arm around Angel's neck. "Don't even consider it."

Angel turned around, sitting down in the chair and pulling Wesley into his lap. He caressed Wesley's back as he continued kissing him. "They don't know you. They don't know your intelligence. Your abilities. Your skills as a fighter that go beyond anything they could have ever taught you."

"Yes…" Wesley said. His eyes fluttered closed as Angel nuzzled him "Please."

"How often you have risked your life for others," Angel continued. He yanked off Wesley's tie and stroked his newly-freed neck. "How often you would do it again. How you would do anything, if it meant good would prevail."

"Love you," Wesley said. He captured Angel's mouth in a fiery kiss. "God I love you."

Angel refused to be distracted. He shifted Wesley's weight, making it harder for Wesley to touch him, but giving himself easier access. "Your sense of humor. Your ability to laugh at yourself. Your love of new things."

"Need you, Angel," Wesley replied. His breathing had become ragged. His hand grasped the back of Angel's hair tightly.

Angel reached down and undid the front of Wesley's pants. He slid his hand inside, finding Wesley's erection and stroking it, quieting Wesley with the pleasure. "They don't know that when you go to the movies you like to have popcorn along with some candy that has fruit in it," Angel continued. He tightened his hand, alternating the rhythm. "How in the back of your music collection you've got Madonna albums, or that one day you'd love to try line dancing."

"Angel…" Wesley gasped, and now it was a warning. He was starting to get close.

In a deft motion Angel shifted him yet again, turning him so that Wesley's back was against his chest, Wesley's legs straddling his. "Lean against me," he told him, rewarding Wesley with a faint nip against his neck as he obeyed. Angel began stroking him harder. He could hear the pounding of Wesley's heart. The scent of his arousal was almost euphoric. "They don't know that you enjoy reading, and working on your motorcycle, or that for the past few weeks you've been trying to learn card tricks."

Wesley was sweating now, his hips rocking against Angel's as his cock became harder. "Need you," Wesley whispered. "Angel, please -"

"And they don't know," Angel said, brushing his lips against Wesley's ear, "how much I love you."

"Angel!" Wesley cried, and with that he climaxed, his body shuddering as Angel's hand worked him over the edge, then back to softness again. "Angel," he repeated, resting his head back against Angel's shoulder now. His breathing was still rough, his heart still pounding, though Angel could hear it ease. "Angel… I shall never find words enough…"

Angel kissed him. "I love you, Wes," he said. He stroked Wesley tenderly. "That's all that matters."

Wesley touched Angel's cheek with the back of his hand. His eyes were beautifully hazy from pleasure. "You did the right thing," he said. He kissed Angel again. "Precisely the right thing."

Angel rubbed his cheek against Wesley's touch, feeling relief course through his own body. "Thanks. Wasn't sure."

Wesley smiled. "Knew you wouldn't be. Stubborn idiot."

"Thought that was part of my charm," Angel said. He captured Wesley's hand in his, turning to kiss the fingertips. "Want to go to bed?"

"In a moment," Wesley said. With effort, he sat up. "There's still the matter of you to consider."

Angel frowned. "What?"

"This," Wesley said, moving his hand down and pressing it against Angel's cock.

Angel fought the urge to push himself into the touch. "'s ok, Wes," he said, "Really -"

Wesley met his eyes. "I want to. Let me."

Angel thought about arguing, about telling Wesley that Angel would take care of him for the rest of the night, but the feeling of Wesley's fingertips on him stole away all thoughts of chivalry. "If you must," Angel said instead. He licked his lips, feeling himself respond to Wesley's ministrations.

"I'm afraid that I insist," Wesley said. He kissed Angel one more time before sliding off of his lap, nudging Angel's legs apart as he did. "After all," he added as he undid Angel's zipper, "is it wise to sleep with a vampire when he hasn't been satiated?"

"If you can use words like 'satiated' then I - ah!" Angel couldn't keep from crying out as Wesley bent forward and wrapped his lips around him. "I…"

Wesley did not respond, choosing instead to let his actions speak for him. He spread Angel's legs further apart and began working Angel's erection with his mouth. His tongue moved in swirls that belied his relative inexperience.

Angel smiled, stroking Wesley's hair. Had to admit it. Wesley had always had the talent of being a quick learner.

Wesley's hands touched him as his lips and tongue kept stroking. He ran his hands along Angel's thighs, then moved to scratch light trails on his stomach. Angel felt his desire grow.

"Feels good, Wes," he said softly, knowing Wesley still craved the reassurance. He tangled his hand in Wesley's hair, thrusting to meet the eager mouth that held him. "Don't stop."

Wesley reached out, blindly seeking Angel's free hand. Angel supplied it at once, and Wesley thread his fingers through, holding Angel's hand as tightly as Angel held his. He worked his mouth gently, massaging Angel and teasing him beyond rational thought.

"Wes," Angel hissed. He sank lower in the chair, trying to make more of himself available to Wesley. He wished he breathed, wished he could gasp for Wesley's enjoyment. Instead he let his body convey the message, thrusting his hips harder into Wesley's mouth. "Keep going. Don't - don't stop. Feels - feels so good, Wes."

Wesley responded, sitting up and taking Angel into him deeper. Then Wesley changed his breathing. Angel felt the tug of Wesley's mouth as Wesley bobbed his head up and down, sucking Angel in with quick, fluttering pulses. Angel groaned, knowing he was losing it. He abandoned all hope of thought, or communication. His skin tingled, then burned as Wesley continued, until the faintest brush of Wesley's thumb against his wrist was enough to make him explode, thrusting into Wesley's mouth almost hard enough to bruise.

It was a moment before either of them could speak.

"How was that?" Wesley asked, quietly. He was still on the floor, resting his head against Angel's thigh.

"You have to ask?" Angel said. Then he remembered that yes, Wesley did. "Perfect."

Wesley attempted a smile. "I hope not too - "

Angel shook his head. "Don't even think it. You did just fine, Wes. Couldn't have done better."

Wesley nodded, taking this in. "Thank you."

Angel thought about adding something, then realized there was nothing more to say. He stroked Wesley's hair again. "C'mon, Wes. Let's go to bed."

Wesley smiled, accepted a hand up, and followed him.

-Fin-

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